Whole Lotta Scratchin' Going On

So here I am, alone, with a 19 month old baby girl and a 17 month old dog. Two toddlers at the same time, which makes me question my sanity when I told John we could get Azzie. But, despite my strong fondness and preference for golden retrievers, John adores German shepherds, and when he saw Azzie last month, his face had an expression I've only seen once: at our wedding reception when I asked him if he was ready to leave for the hotel. I couldn't say no to the dog.

The name "Azzie" wasn't our choice. The breeders had named her Azera, but I have a hard time naming a dog after a Hyundai. We debated "Azure" for the amazing skies here in Hawaii, and "Azaria", which is derived from the Hebrew for helped by God. Cool. While we've chosen a more formal name, after 48 hours of calling her Azzie, I realized there was no way John would be able to call her anything else.

One of the things that living in Hawaii has taught me in the last few days is that, contrary to my previous understanding, one's house can absolutely get fleas even when all household pets are flea-free. WHAT?!? Of course this has to happen while John is on another continent. Thankfully, Emily seems to be escaping their onslaught due to the 'baby in a bag' (a.k.a. Halo SleepSack), but I have apparently been chosen as their preferred delicacy. The folks at the local pet store freaked out when they saw my legs, ankles, and feet, which look like a nasty attack of chicken pox. And I also have bites in places that bites, well, simply shouldn't be. Ugh.

All this reminds me of my horror when I discovered ants in our kitchen in Charleston. We called the complex's exterminator, who snickered at my mortification and said with a wink, "Ah, you must be a Yankee, huh?". Apparently we Yankees move down to South Carolina and flip out when we discover bugs, since in the north, avoiding that is usually a matter of keeping a clean home. He assured me my kitchen was pristine and that this was merely part of Southern living and you just kind of roll with it, much like the palmetto bugs. (For those of you who haven't lived in Charleston, "palmetto bugs" are big-a** roaches that FLY, but Charlestonians, who are quite insistent on this term, seem to think that calling them palmetto bugs bestows Southern charm. It doesn't.)

Another little tidbit: the reason I was getting these tiny sugar ants on me while doing e-mail was because, Mr. Exterminator informed me, they enjoy the vibration of the wires behind the electronics. You read that correctly. I have to admit that the concept of these little ants back there gettin' jiggy with it creeped me out more than finding them on my counters.

After a year in Charleston, we were sent to Germany, where our landlady was baffled by our inquiry as to why German windows do not have screens. "How else would the flies get out?", she asked. Indeed. The flyswatters that I'd used as a teaching tool came in very handy throughout the renovated barn we lived in, so John can't complain that the teaching supplies that he's now schlepped across 18 time zones haven't come in handy.

So, I now have a variety of flea treatments for the house, most of which require evacuation for a few hours of all things that breathe or keeping kids and pets off the carpet for 24 hours. Frankly, neither of these options is all that easy for one woman wrangling a baby, a dog, and a cat who thinks the dog's sole purpose in life is to torment her. I'm currently devising a plan combining the powder, sprays, and bombs in phases depending on who is sleeping at the time. Wish me luck in the strategy.

Oh, next time I should mention the centipedes here--a foot long is not uncommon--but if you'll excuse me, I have to go scratch myself raw. Ah, the price of paradise....